


Bloodlines

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time can't assuage every pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodlines

It was strange, having actual paper in her hands. Matriarch Gallae had let her make a request after her first century at the monastery, praising a flawless record of obedience and service. After some deliberation, Falere had asked for a sketchbook.

A datapad of her own was out of the question. It could be reprogrammed or conceal a code, any number of things that would disrupt the peace. Weeks had passed before Gallae had quietly pulled her aside and placed a thick pad of paper in her hands.

"There’s only so many pages, Falere." Gallae said. The pale wash over the matriarch’s face had always reminded her of Mother. "Don’t rush through them."

The pen had been easier to come by; there were still plenty available that drew on every surface. Falere took her usual seat by the balcony, preferring the view of the steep grey mountains outside the window. Some of the other girls - Rila included - thought they were ugly, best concealed in the humid fog that descended on Lesuss in the summer, but she liked finding patterns in the jagged rocks. It helped her meditate, on harder days.

They were the first thing she drew. A cliff face emerged out of quick black lines, detailed with fractures in the stone. On a whim, Falere shaded in where she imagined caves would be, somewhere to explore. Samara had praised her art when she was a child, even if it was often paired with a soft rebuke when the sketching program was open over the day’s homework.

Her mother’s face was sharp. Like the edges of the mountains could be, but smoother, sculpted as if by Athame’s blessing. Mirala had been born with the same features, almost a perfect copy.

Falere’s pen traveled over the page, leaving slim strokes behind. Samara’s jaw - or was it her sister’s? - was formed out of dark ink as she focused, trying to remember. The curve of a full mouth, a familiar brow furrowed in thought. They were all easy to draw until she got to the eyes.

Something else could come first. Falere only knew the shape of a justicar’s jewelry from Phora, who often escorted maidens here, but she imagined there was little variation. It fit firmly above the brow she had already sketched. The curve of the crest followed, detail abandoned after a few quick freckles.

The empty stare was discomfiting.

Falere filled the eyes in with solid black before she could think otherwise, startled by the monstrous bent it gave to the portrait. It could still be Samara, if not for the quirk of the lips, the hungry gaze.

Footsteps from behind made Falere tense in her seat, pen flying across the paper as she drew the temple of Serrice from memory, covering the portrait with thick columns and dark patterns until it was obliterated from the page.

"Falere?" Rila stepped into view. "Are you alright?"

By some mercy, she managed a smile. “Of course.”

Rila’s eyes flickered down to the sketchbook, the lines cut so deeply into the paper the ink was just starting to dry.

"Serrice." Rila said softly, biting her lip. "I didn’t know you still remembered, sister."

"I tripped on the outside steps when I was ten." Falere replied, fighting the urge to flip the sketchbook closed. Maybe then, her pulse would stop racing. "Mother carried me back to the skycar. How could I forget?"

"You were convinced your knee would scar." The faint smile was finally returned. "I’m sorry for startling you. They’re going to call us in for dinner any moment now."

Falere moved to stand, fingers catching on the cover of the sketchbook. “I’ll go put this away.”

"You should show Matriarch Gallae." Rila said. "Maybe she’ll let you let you look at some pictures from the archives for inspiration."

There was nothing to do but nod. Falere tucked the sketchbook beneath one arm, intent on cutting through the Great Hall to her quarters. Rila didn’t have to know what she had drawn. One of them suffering those memories was enough.


End file.
